


Whiteout

by blakefancier



Series: Snow Series [1]
Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-26
Updated: 2011-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:11:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakefancier/pseuds/blakefancier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake's rebels hurt Avon and so he takes him away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiteout

Snow makes a sound as it falls, my mum said, you can hear it if you listen close enough. Of course when she told me that, I didn't know what snow was, I couldn't grasp the idea of frozen water falling from the sky. I couldn't even imagine the sky, having never been outside.

I like the snow: the cold, the wet, the way it mutes all sound. I like the way it makes you shiver and hug yourself until you can't stand it and you pull me into bed. We stay there for hours.

After sex you're warm and your eyes are dreamy, far away. It hurts to look at you then, hurts to touch you. Sometimes you make a soft sound deep in your throat--or is that my imagination?--and you touch my stomach, searching. When you find the wounds you bury your face in my neck and I stroke your hair. It's soft still, soft and clingy.

You're soft and clingy. Pale as snow. You mute me.

But that's all right because I muted you, didn't I? Or they did, my followers, but it amounts to the same thing in the end.

I imagine kissing you, sometimes, your tongue fighting mine. Reality is different. Reality has made you--or is that me?-- empty.

No tongue, broken hands.

Nights are for you but--

I spend my days in the snow: chopping wood or walking, listening to the crunch of my boots, branches snapping, the falling of snowflakes, my face and hands and feet growing numb. It's nice to be numb. It's the return of feeling that hurts.

Snow covers everything, crystalline-cool. Blinding.

Every evening as I walk into the cabin, you greet me with a kiss. Your lips are warm and they signal the return of heat. We'll have dinner then fall into bed. When you fall asleep, I'll look out the frosted window.

We're both of us, alone: you with your silence, me with the sound of falling snow.


End file.
